Worlds Apart
by LordStephenson
Summary: Jason, true to his word to the oracle, has kept the world he was raised in a secret from his close friends. As every day passes, he forgets it more and more. But it has not forgotten him. Nor, once it has found him, will it ignore his new home. Can Jason face his biggest enemy yet; the forces of a divided and dyeing world.


**A/N: Welcome to my new story! This may be updated irregularly, but it will be finished! While the first chapter may not feature or hero's, we will see them next chapter! If you have any requests or notice any errors, feel free to review. Enjoy!**

The ancient sand coloured anston limestone cladding shook and groaned, as the 150 year old bell within the great clock tower rang the hour, resonating across the capital of the former superpower. The once renowned palace where important decisions that would change the world were once decided, was for now silent and still, its hallowed halls and great courtyards now filled with nothing but the distant sounds of great flying machines and horseless carriages rattling around nearby. The politicians so often found within its sandy walls had long since fled to their wives, and the only people to be found inside could be fleetingly glimpsed through a small window that overlooked a courtyard filled with marble and bronze statues. Statues of the people that had shaped the world, and were now long since dust. To the casual observer, nothing of any importance could be going on inside. Surely it was just a cleaning crew, or perhaps a miserable MP, too wrapped up in his own work to notice the time. But if said casual observer had known what was being discussed inside that seemingly unimportant room, they may possible think its inhabitants had gone quite mad.

Foreign Minister Mathew Doorsman sighed, allowing his head to rest upon the ornately carved, but increasingly uncomfortable, high backed leather chair. He glanced around the small room for what felt like the 100th time. From the oak paneling on the walls apparently symbolizing the British Empire at its height, although how it did that evaded him, to the one ornately carved door frame and window ledge, before finally resting upon a television mounted above the 20th century fireplace, the only modern appliance to be found in this room, save for the phones he and his two fellow prisoners in this room had on them. At least, he felt like a prisoner. How long had he been here for? 6 hours? 12 hours? A week? He had no way of telling. And then, it hit him. As in, a pencil smacked him in the face, dragging him back into the real world.  
>"What was that for?" he protested, touching his now red cheek, which may or may not be red with embarrassment, rather than actual pain.<br>"You were distracted, and it took it upon myself to bring you back to earth," replied the cool, slightly annoyed voice of Britain's leading trans-dimensional theorist, Professor Jonathan Trainsmith, PHD. "Besides, this meeting is far too important for you to become distracted."  
>"But we've been at this for hours, and are still no closer to finding a way to break this to the House of Commons, let alone the general public. And I still fail to see why I'm needed here at all!"<br>The professor made to effort to conceal his obvious annoyance with the man before him, and the eye role certainly didn't lift Mathew's spirits. "For a start, it has only been an hour and a half. We would be finished by now if _someone _here had bothered to show up at the required time," stated the professor, glaring at the half snoozing, unusually large man in a military uniform, comfortably seated at the same round table as them. The man barely moved, and instead muttered something incomprehensible about rusty P90's, or something similar. Both the professor and Mathew simply sighed, and the professor resumed his lecture.  
>"Something this controversial will require time and effort to get under control, and that is something only and expert in foreign relations can provide. Unfortunately, I couldn't find one, so you will have to suffice."<br>Mathew inwardly sighed again. Nobody thought he was good at his job, even though he had successfully stopped a war between North and South Korea. Apparently anyone could. At least, that's what the newspapers seemed to think. He cleared his throat, secretly longing for a glass of water. "I still fail to see why we can't just send in a few soldiers to..." he trailed off, becoming aware that, for once, both the professor and the drunken man were looking at him like he was a small child, who had just said something exceptionality stupid.  
>"What?"<br>General Liam Northwood sat up in his chair, in actually fact in full possession of his wits, despite the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and began to speak, amazingly not slurring his words at all. After all, he was a General of the British Army, and as was tradition, there was more to him then met the eye.  
>"We can't send soldiers in," he said, his frustration clearly showing, "Because that would be an act of war. Imagine having to explain <em>that<em> to the UN Security Council."  
>He put on an unnaturally high voice," Oh, I'm so sorry Mr. Secretary-General, we only wanted to find a missing person, we didn't <em>mean<em> to declare war on a sovereign state that was the first we have ever seen outside of our _plane of existence_! Do you have any idea, Doorsman, about how big of a deal this is! We have a chance to make headlines, and you want to make them hate us!"  
>Mathew suddenly felt very small. "Sorry", he whispered.<br>Professor Trainsmith spoke up.  
>"While Mr. Doorsman's suggestion is rather idiotic, he did have a point earlier. It is far too late to be discussing things of this nature. We shall continue this discussion tomorrow, understood?<br>General Northwood stood up.  
>"Agreed proff, it is far too late to be talking about things of this nature. Fancy going to grab a drink?"<br>The professors' eyes widened.  
>"No thank you, that is quite alright, I think I will just head..."<br>"Rubbish," boomed the General, "you need a drink or 5 to loosen you up!"  
>And, despite the unfortunate professors' protests, he steered them both towards the door, down the stairs, out of the palace, and into the night, the professors' pleading fading into the noise of London.<br>Mathew sighed for a final time, turned around, packed up his notes, and heading home, where an empty house awaited his return.

Mathew collapsed onto his cold, king sized bed, and reached for his remote. Finding it, he turned on the news. Prehaps, for once, something good may happen.  
>"Hello and welcome to BBC news at 10," stated the woman sitting at the all too familiar red, round table of the world famous corporation, "Our top stories tonight. Areas surrounding the Mid-Atlantic Ridge have declared a state of emergency as another deep sea earthquake strikes the coasts of Ireland, America and Spain. Our news corre-"<br>Mathew threw the remote across the room. Of course out of all the things to make the news today, it would be one the key features of his discussion tonight. He sighed. Ever scince that moron Jacob, or whatever his name was, has seemingly gotten himself killed whilst working for the British government, all he'd heard was what was going on and how it was all his fault. How it was his fault he didn't know. He was the Foreign Minister, responsible for diplomatic relations with other countries. He wasn't the Secretary of State for farming, food and marine environment. Although ever since that particular idiot had gotten himself hospitalized after a Grand National gone wrong, responsibility for the fate of the head of a team of experts sent to investigate the disturbances that had already claimed the lives for two people had fallen to him. As far as the public was aware, he was simply leading an investigation into the deaths of three British citizens in the Atlantic. What they didn't know was that there was a very good chance those three people were alive. Only 1010 people in the entire world knew, and one of them was right there in that room. Two others were currently drinking at some pub in Westminster, and God knows where the other 1007 people were. No matter. Soon the top secret experimental portal to another dimension would be ready for more widespread use. Or so the head of the UN committee that had recruited him to the cause had claimed. Mathew was still skeptical.  
>I mean, come on, he thought bitterly, how the hell could Jacob, or whatever, have survived his submarine imploding at the bottom of the Mid-Atlantic ridge. Let alone being somehow transported to an alternate dimension.<br>I mean, how likely is that anyway?

**Next time: Winds of change**


End file.
